Repressed
by LoveBugOC
Summary: Draco Malfoy doesn't remember much from his childhood. But he remembers a girl. A girl with brown and hair brown eyes. He remembers her laugh and her voice, but he can't remember her face for the life of him. [REPOST/UPDATE]
1. Repressed

Hellooo!

As a lot of you already know, I wrote this story ages ago and many people have wondered if it was going to be continued or not. Well, here's the thing: it was originally supposed to be a one-shot. However, since the requests for a follow-up (or a few), I've been thinking and writing and thinking. Anyway, my point is that I have finally decided to post the companion pieces I've written – I was unsure at first, but I'm gonna do it! These pieces will come over time in the near future.

First, though, I've fixed this up a bit and – quite obviously – reposted it both for your entertainment and as a little reminder.

Enjoy! (Again.)

* * *

><p><strong>Repressed<strong>

_Draco Malfoy doesn't remember much from his childhood. But he remembers a girl. A girl with brown and hair brown eyes. He remembers her laugh and her voice, but he can't remember her face for the life of him._

* * *

><p><em>A boy with white blonde hair.<em>

_A girl with chestnut hair and red ribbons in her hair._

_The sound of a swing swinging. _

"_What's your name?"_

"_Mummy tells me not to talk to strangers."_

"_I'm Draco. Draco Malfoy. And now we aren't strangers anymore."  
><em>  
>X<p>

There's something about this girl, in his dreams. There's something so pure and raw and real. Like she's more than just a girl in his dreams. Like she's real. _A memory_.

But then she couldn't be a memory, could she? Because he'd be able to remember her. But he doesn't.

She's just a girl, with a sweet voice and an adorable giggle, hiding inside his dreams. And he wishes she were real.

X

_A green dress._

_A silver tie._

_Sand between his toes and in her hair._

"_My parents are dentists."_

"_What's a dentist?"_

"_They look after your teeth."_

"_I didn't know that muggles needed their teeth looked after." _

"_What's a muggle?"  
><em>  
>X<p>

Eight year-old Draco Malfoy wonders why she's in all of his dreams – except his nightmares, she's never in his nightmares. And he's glad for that, because she would be scared and he doesn't want her to be scared. But in every other dream, she's there. Most times she doesn't stop talking. But sometimes she just stands there, watching him with those curious brown eyes and curly brown hair.

That's all he sees of her. Her eyes, her hair, and sometimes the occasional outfit. He never sees her face. He doesn't even know her name.

X

_Rain._

_Damp air._

_Worms and mud and rain water. Pink rain boots._

"_What's your father like?"_

"_My...father?"_

"_I've met your mother, and she seems very nice. But I've never met your father."_

"_He's...he doesn't like...your kind."_

"_My kind of what?"_

"_Girls. They have cooties, you know."_

"_No we don't! _Boys_ have cooties!"_

_A squeal._

_Laughter._

_Splash.  
><em>  
>X<p>

He wonders if she's real. And if she's real, why doesn't he remember her? Why can't he see her?

He's nine when he tells his mother about the girl in his dreams. His mother gives him that disapproving look and he cowers under her light blue eyes, normally so warm and inviting, but now so cold and withdrawn.

"It's just a dream, Dragon," she tells him.

And somehow, for the first time in his entire life, he doesn't believe her. Nor does he understand why she's lying to him.

X

_Snowflakes._

_"What do you want to be when you grow up?"_

_"I dunno. I've never really thought about."_

_"I wanna be a writer."_

_"That's a surprise."_

_Giggle. Slap._

_"I think you'd be a good writer."_

_"I think you'll be good, no matter what you do."_

_Hot cocoa and marshmallows._

X

There are moments, he realizes when he's 10 years old, that he doesn't remember. There are holes in his childhood that he can't fill. It's like he's lost bits and pieces of his life in the shuffle.

Every now and then he can scrounge up enough bits and pieces of his memories to paint a picture of his past. But the picture is never clear. It's like a picture that has faded over time and crumbled in its conditions. You can see the outlines, the shapes and the colours, but you can't see the subject. _She_is that subject. Faceless. Nameless.

_Real_.

Real to him, at least.

X

_Rays of sunshine._

_Chirping birds._

_Blooming flower._

_Budding trees._

_"Does your father love you?"_

_"My father? Of course he does, my daddy loves me."_

_..._

_"Why?"_

_"I don't think my father loves me..."_

_"...Why?"_

_"...he's never told me. And he's always angry. Always."_

_"Your daddy loves you. He has to love you, he's your daddy."  
><em>  
>X<p>

He hears his parents fighting and even though he knows he shouldn't, he stands outside his father's study and listens. They're speaking in loud hushed tones, anger and betrayal in his mother's, and annoyance in his father's.

She tells him it was a mistake to do what he did.

[What did he do?]

He tells her he thought they agreed never to talk about it again.

They did, but his son is starting to get suspicious.

"Does he know?"

"No. But he'll figure it out sooner or later."

"Well then until he does…"

"I told you, Lucius. I told you it was a terrible idea."

Draco doesn't understand what's going on. He wants to ask them what they've done but he's afraid of the answer. A part of him already knows, though. He knows it has something to do with the girl in his dreams.

_The girl from his past_.

X

_Sandcastles._

_Seaweed._

_Toy boats._

_"Can I marry you some day?"_

_"Draco! We're six years old-"_

_"That's why I said _some_ day."_

_Giggles._

_"Yes, I'll marry you some day."_

X

His dreams get more vivid as time goes on. More real. So real, that he can't wait to fall asleep and he doesn't want to wake up. He wants to stay, in whatever world they live in, forever.

He's happy in that world. Carefree.

He can't remember ever being happy in _this_world. Or carefree.

X

_Muddy shoes._

_Scraped knees._

_Orange and red and yellow leaves._

_"I can't see you anymore."_

_"W-what? Why? Did I do something wrong?"_

_"No, you didn't do anything wrong. I did."_

_"What'd you do?"_

_"I...I can't tell you. It's just...my father, he-"_

_"Doesn't like girls."_

_..._

_"Maybe we could talk to him? Maybe then he'd like me."_

_"He won't. I'm sorry."_

_"I wanted to keep you forever."_

_"Me too."  
><em>  
>X<p>

**Obliviate**.


	2. Familiar

Thank you everybody for all the lovely reviews and encouragement!

This second part is told through Hermione's POV. Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Familiar<strong>

_She recognizes him the second she sees him. He's familiar to her, and for some reason the words he says hurts her more than it probably should._

* * *

><p><em>A boy.<em>

_With white blonde hair and dark grey eyes. _

_With an infectious laugh and a beautiful smile. _

_With a sense of humour and a kind spirit._

X

She recognizes him the second she sees him. She just doesn't know from _where_. It's like déjà vu.

His blonde hair is what catches her attention. He's standing at the front of the group, following closely behind one Professor McGonagall. She's half listening, half staring at the back of his head as they walk up the Grand Staircase. At one point he turns to snicker at something his friend says and she looks away quickly so as not to catch his gaze.

There's something oddly familiar about him, like she's seen him somewhere before. It's almost impossible, of course, because he's, well, a wizard and before a couple of weeks ago she didn't even know magic actually existed. [She dreamed about it of course, like many children her age.] And unless she saw him in Diagon Alley while she was shopping for her school supplies, which she's positive she would remember anyway, she really has no reason to recognize him.

Professor McGonagall stops them and tells them to wait here before disappearing into what she _knows_ is the Great Hall – she's only read about it in _Hogwarts: A History_ a hundred times, and memorized the map.

Everyone is quiet. Shy.

And then he – the blonde boy – approaches the famous Harry Potter (the very one everyone had been talking about on the train.) He comments on the fact that the raven haired boy is famous, insults his redheaded friend Weasley-something, and then introduces himself all in the same breath. Draco Malfoy. [He says it like it means something. He's smug and arrogant and cocky.]

There's no way she can possibly know him, she decides. She'd never be friends with someone that rude.

X

_A playground. _

_A swing set. _

_The wind blowing in her hair as she swings back and forth. _

_A pair of hands pushing her. Giving her air. _

_Giving her life. _

_A giggle. _

_A smirk from the boy behind her. "See? I told you, it's just like flying."_

_"And how would _you_ know what flying is like?"_

_"That's a secret."_

_"I can keep a secret."  
><em>  
>X<p>

"Mudblood."

His voice is so full of hate and disgust. And even if it wasn't, the sneer on his face says it all anyway.

Tears gather in her eyes at the degrading name he's just called her, one she'd only read in books before. She knows what it means, what it stands for. She knows how hateful and disgusting it is. She knew, before-hand, that she might have been called such a thing at one point or another, and she'd prepared herself for when someone did say it. And yet somehow she wasn't at all prepared for it.

Nor was she prepared for the amount of pain she felt afterwards.

She still has that feeling that she knows him from somewhere, and perhaps that's why it affects her more than it probably should.

X

_"Leave her alone."_

_His voice is strong and authoritative; like no other five year old she's ever known. _

_The two boys making fun of her stop. _

_"Leave."_

_They think she's a freak. _

_"Now."_

_They leave in a hurry. _

_She sniffs back tears. _

_"They're just prats, Granger. Don't listen to them."_

_"They're right..."_

_"You're not a freak... You're just special."_

X

"Granger."

She ignores him. And yet that name – her last name, on his lips – sounds so familiar. Like she's heard it before. She has, of course, every day since second year when he started calling her by her last name, just as he does with Harry and Ron. It separates her (them) from the rest of their peers, the way he uses their names; the way they use his. Like they're either not good enough or just too good for first names. It separates enemies from friends. Like an insult.

And yet the voice she hears in her head (and swears is real) is smooth and soft and friendly.

"Granger."

Finally, she snaps. She spins around in her chair, glaring daggers at the blonde haired, grey eyed _boy_. "What, Malfoy?!"

He smirks, insults her hair and then walks away.

X

_An ice rink. _

_A boy who can't skate, to save his own life. _

_A girl, so talented and free, pulling him along by his arms. He holds on for dear life. _

_"What are you trying to do? Kill me?"_

_"Of course not, silly. What good would that do?"_

_"This is payback, isn't it? Because I made you get on that swing last summer."_

_"I have no idea what you're talking about."_

_A scowl. _

_A laugh. _

_"I'm gonna let go, okay-"_

_"No! Not okay, don't you dare let..."_

_A smooth glide. _

_A steady stop. _

_"I did it..."_

_"I told you, there's nothing to it."_

_"We make a good team."_

X

She looks across the table at her partner. He's hard at work, concentrating on the potions equation in front of him. They're both at the top of the class, partnered up based on their equal abilities. They're like fire and ice, him and her, and yet they make an exceptional team. They're both driven and hard-working. Their bickering and insults and threats, and the fact that they both want to be the best even if it means out-doing the other works well for them.

They've got a sort of…chemistry. And it puzzles her, because she doesn't understand how they can loathe one another, have nothing in common, and yet still work well together. And it feels...it feels right.

It feels normal.

It feels familiar to her…like they'd worked together before. Before Hogwarts, that is.

Which is impossible. [Her mum says it's a figment of her imagination.]

After two weeks of working together they receive a perfect grade on their lab assignment. And as she collects her belongings at the end of class, she notices that he lingers in the doorway. "What?" she asks.

"We make a good team."

X

_A loud CRACK. _

_A sonic BOOM. _

_A terrified squeal. _

_"You're not afraid of thunder, are you?"_

_"A little... It's perfectly logical, you know. There's a name for it and everything."_

_A chuckle. "I'm sure there is."_

_A whimper. _

_"Don't worry, I'll protect you."  
><em>  
>X<p>

A hand curls around her wrist and she lets out a terrified squeal as she's yanked forcefully into an alcove. Her assailant pushes her against the wall and she struggles, trying to fight him off. He's stronger. He grunts when she knees him in the thigh, before pressing his body against hers to still her and pushing his leg between hers. Trapping her.

For a moment she thinks he might rape her.

"I'm not gonna hurt you."

She recognizes the voice immediately, from that of Draco Malfoy. But it isn't his usually cocky, smug, hateful voice. This one's more soft, smooth...familiar. He's never spoken to her like this and yet she could swear she's heard it before. "Malfoy…what do you want?"

"S-something's happening, tomorrow, Granger. Something bad." He sounds desperate.

She sort of feels bad for him. Worried. Concerned, mostly. "What's happening?"

"I can't tell you. Just...protect yourself. Protect your friends."

That's all he says before he leaves her alone with her thoughts.

X

_Muddy shoes._

_Scraped knees._

_Orange and red and yellow leaves._

_"I can't see you anymore."_

_"W-what? Why? Did I do something wrong?"_

_"No, you didn't do anything wrong. I did."_

_"What'd you do?"_

_"I...I can't tell you. It's just...my father, he-"_

_"Doesn't like girls."_

_"Maybe we could talk to him? Maybe then he'd like me."_

_"He won't. I'm sorry."_

_"I wanted to keep you forever."_

_"Me too."  
><em>  
>X<p>

**Obliviate**


	3. Forgotten

Bon-jour! This is the third installment, told from Draco's perspective. I was going to post it in as a different story, but I think this would be easier.

For those who are wondering, while all these parts are connected to one another they don't necessarily make up a whole story which is my it's more chunky than flowy. So yeah, while they're all related in some way, shape or form, it I wouldn't really call it a full-on story…if that makes sense.

Anyhow, please enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Forgotten, But Not Gone<strong>

_The first time he sees her, he's 11 years old and he swears it isn't the first time._

* * *

><p><strong>He's sitting<strong> in one of the first-year compartments. On his left side: Vincent Crabbe. On his right: Gregory Goyle. Both boy's fathers are "business partners" with his own and so, by default, he's been friends with them for years. They're thick, the pair of them, but they make him look even smarter than he already is so he keeps them around. Across from him is the ever-irritating Pansy Parkinson; he met her two years ago, her father's also a "business associate" of his, and she's fallen head-over-heels in love with him. When she isn't drooling over him and vying for his attention, she can be alright. On her left is Theodore Nott. His father, too, is a family friend and unlike with Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson he's never really been forced to hang out with him. On her right is Blaise Zabini. His father's dead and his mother has been through something like seven marriage's in the last 11 years. He's the only one who isn't connected to his family through "business" or many years of friendship; and he's the only person he'd ever trust with his deepest, darkest secret. Not that he _has_. Just that he would.

Blaise and Theo are talking about the rumor that's been wandering the train, moving from compartment to compartment. The rumor that Harry Potter will be attending Hogwarts this year. His father has already warned him of the possibility of the Boy Who Lived returning to the Wizarding World after 11 years of living with his muggle family. Rumor has it the boy didn't even know he was a wizard until a few weeks ago.

Half-blood.

And then the door opens. And for a moment, Draco thinks he's seeing an angel – or at the very least, a ghost. His breath stops in his throat as a short, petite girl with big, bushy hair and large brown eyes stands in the doorway.

"Hi," she greets friendly, smiling.

He's too busy staring at her to notice anybody else's reactions, but based on the silence that has fallen over the compartment, her presence is unwelcome. Her voice rings in his ears and he swears he recognizes it from somewhere. Those teeth, too; they look too big for her mouth. More than that, though, it's her eyes. Giant pools of brown and gold, warm and inviting.

"Have you guys seen a toad? My friend lost one, he says it's somewhere on the train," the girl says, looking innocent.

"No," Theo replies simply.

"Oh," she mutters, seemingly disappointed. She looks down awkwardly, biting her lip as she taps the tip of her foot on the floor three times in deep thought.

"Well if you do come across one, his name's Trevor," she says finally, lifting her head with a soft, shy smile. "And the boy's name is Neville. I'd really love to stay and chat; I'm so excited about staring school! But I've already promised Neville I'd help find Trevor – it's his pet, you know. Anyway, thanks for your time!"

And then with a whirl of black and brown, she's gone. Draco stares at the spot she was just in, unable – or unwilling – to look away. Who was that? And why did her voice sound so familiar.

_"If you could have any animal, at all, what would it be?"_

_"Anything? Even mythical?"_

_"Anything."_

_"A dragon. And I'd name him Draco."_

Theo's flabbergasted voice pulls him out of his head. "Who the bloody hell was that?"

"Her name's Hermione Granger," Pansy replies. "Weird name, right? Anyway, she's nothing special; just another little Mudblood," she spits.

"How do you know that?" Draco asks. A part of him is genuinely curious as to how she knows. Another part of him wants it to be just a rumor.

"I saw her in Diagon Alley. She was with Professor McGonogall; only Mudbloods go with a professor to get their school supplies."

Draco grunts, but says no more as he settles back into his seat. His thoughts keep drifting back to this Granger girl, so he engages Blaise in a game of Wizard's Chess – which will last hours, with the two of them.

In the end, Draco wins despite the distraction.

In the end, he decides that he only recognizes her voice from Diagon Alley.

[That night he dreams of ice cream and laughter and _his girl_.]

X

**His father**resents her.

Granted, Lucius Malfoy hates _all_ Mudbloods, but his hatred towards her, before he even _meets_ her, confuses him. Sure, he's complained about her a few times – because she's a nosey, know-it-all, little teacher's pet who's managed to beat him in all of their classes thus far. But his father's responses are immensely hostile – even for _him_. His words are harsh, laced with venom, and the look in his eyes is almost deadly.

He almost regrets telling him about her the second they run into her, with Potter and the Weasleys, in Diagonal Alley. The way his father spits her name, glares at her, speaks to her. Calls her out on her blood status, makes a nasty remark about her parents – who really have nothing to do with it. It bothers him.

But she stands her ground, standing tall and looking proud despite his father's insults. And he almost smirks, because the look on his father's face is a priceless.

It's only when she turns away from them that he sees the fleeting look in her big, muddy, brown eyes. Disappointment. Disapproval. Hurt. And, suddenly, he really does regret telling his father about her.

[That night he dreams, again, of _his girl_crying because of those boys making fun of her – calling her a freak. And even his real-self wants to hex them for hurting her.]

X

**The second** her fist slams into his face, confuses him. First, he feels nothing but pain – the blinding-kind that breaks your nose and makes red, sticky blood ooze from the wound. Second, he feels angry and humiliated – angry at the Mudblood for hitting him in the first place, let alone _touching_ him, and humiliated by the mere fact that she had tricked and bested him. Again. And then, as he'd ran back up the hill towards the footbridge, forbidding his "friends" from uttering anything about the incident to _anyone_, he hears a voice. Just one. Just hers; _his girl's_.

_"Oh! Sorry! I'm so sorry, Draco!"_

It echoes in his head, makes him dizzy and confused and he instinctively spins around, looking for her. His gaze, however, only lands on the trio as they begin making their way down the hill towards the giant's hut.

[He dreams of "horseplay" and _his girl_, that night. Getting all muddy and shrieking with laughter as they tumble in the wet grass, play-fighting. When she lands a particularly hard punch that sends him to the ground in pain, she panics and falls to her knees beside him.

_"Oh! Sorry! I'm so sorry, Draco!"  
><em>

_"I don't think you know your own strength, He..."_

He almost says her name.]

X

**He – along**with a number of others – doesn't even recognize her at first. She's wearing a beautiful, form-fitting periwinkle dress that does wonders for her girlish curves. Her hair is actually neat, pulled back and styled – probably for the first time in her life. She isn't wearing a lot of makeup, but the stuff she is wearing makes her brown eyes pop – they sort of remind him of melted chocolate and caramel – and puts a bit of color on her lips.

She looks beautiful.

For a moment, he forgets she's a Mudblood. He forgets she's friends with Potter and Weasley. He forgets that she stands for everything he stands against – by choice, or not. He forgets, entirely, who she is.

And for just a moment he forgets that he has his own date, tugging on his arm and sneering in _her_direction. She makes a rude comment about how Granger is nothing but an attention-seeking whore, and Draco has to bite his tongue to keep his thoughts to himself – that Granger isn't the one tugging on his sleeve and walking around like she owns the bloody castle.

Still, as she passes him into the Great Hall with her own date – an idol of his, who he isn't sure he still wants to idolize – he tosses her an insult, something that doesn't even remotely make sense, for it's what he does.

[He dreams of _his girl_, that night. Dressed just like the princesses from her fairy tales, wearing a tiara and sparkly shoes. She spins for him, giggling gleefully.

_"How do I look?"  
><em>

_"Beautiful. You know, if you didn't have _girl_ cooties."_]

X

**He feels**guilty the second he sees the red, angry scars across the top of her porcelain-like white hand.

Following the trio around and busting them in the act of their little DA meeting was all well and good – completely harmless. Until, of course, he began to notice the scars showing up on everyone's hands. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what Umbridge is doing – especially if you take into account their writing hands. Granger is right-handed and the scars are on her left hand.

Umbridge is, in fact, torturing them. Torturing _her_. That thought alone makes him sick to his stomach. He signed up for her little squad to be in control, to be looked up to by his peers, to show his superiority. To make his father proud. Nobody had said anything about _torture_.

He finds her studying in the library – nursing that left hand – and before he can talk himself out it, he strides towards her table in four large strides. From the pocket inside his robes he produces a small vile of clear liquid and places it on the table next to her Transfiguration text book. He takes a step back, lingering next to her as she raises her face to look at the vile. He watches her eyelashes flutter and her nose scrunch in confusion as she tilts her head to look at him.

"What is it?"

"It's a potion."

She raises her eyebrows. "It's not enough that you've got me detention for rest of the year, but you have to poison me too?"

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head at her with a smirk. "It'll help with pain and the stinging."

She looks confused again so he motions to her hand, which is resting on the table next to her book. She pulls it back and hides it in her lap, looking away from him.

"For what it's worth, I didn't know she would do...what she's doing. She never mentioned anything about those quills."

"Thanks," she mutters.

He nods, turning to leave before stopping mid-step and turning back to face her. "It's concentrated, so just use a little bit at a time. That way there's plenty to go around."

A smile sneaks up upon her lips. "Message received."

He smirks. And then leaves.

[He dreams, like he always does after an encounter with _her_, about _his little girl_with skinned knees. She looks sad and confused and in pain all the same time.

He drops to his knees next to her. _"Here, I'll fix it."_

_"H-how?"_she hiccups.

He grins, running his hand gently over her torn-up skin. A smile of amazement lights up her face. _"Magic."_]

X

**When he**isn't trying to ignore the blinding fear taking over his soul at the possibility of not accomplishing his task, he's trying to ignore this weird and...disturbing obsession he's developed with Hermione Granger.

That is to say, when he isn't thinking and planning and freaking out on the inside, he's watching _her_. Just watching. From a safe distance.

There's just something about her – something mesmerizing and...it's like he feels a pull towards her. A connection, of sorts. Like he has to know where she is, who she's with and what she's doing every minute of every day. And if he doesn't know, he has to find out.

Lately, she's been spending a lot of time in the library – more-so than usual, anyway. And she's been spending less and less time with the pothead and the weasel. Most of the time she looks miserable and withdrawn and he has this unfounded need to hurt and torture the person who's done this to her. Sure, he makes her miserable at times – or at least he used to, when he enjoyed it – but, well, he was allowed to. Nobody else should be allowed to make her feel that way.

When he finds out it's Weasley, who's only been gallivanting around the school with that slag Lavender Brown for the last couple of weeks, he nearly throws the pathetic little blood traitor against the nearest wall and hexes him. He would like nothing more than to rip his throat out and make him suffer, but he doesn't – because, honestly, how would he explain that one away?

When the rumor mill begins to buzz that she's taking Cormac McLaggen to Professor Slughorn's little party, he gets a little tight feeling in his chest that he isn't prepared for. Why would she take _him_? He's foul and pathetic and – then he realizes exactly why she's taking him, and it ties his stomach into knots. She wants to make Weasley jealous.

That's, essentially, why he crashes the party. To see where she is, who's she's with and what she's doing. A sense of satisfaction falls over him when he notices, over Filches gangly shoulder, that she's avoiding her own date. At least she can take care of herself.

Two hours later, he finds himself lingering in the dark corridor outside the room in which the party is being held. He's waiting for her. When the door opens and his peers begin to file out two-by-two, he holds his breath. What if she's with someone? What if she decides to leave with Potter? Or worse, what if she actually leaves with Dickhead McLaggen.

He sees the skirt of her dress before he actually sees her. Alone. He finds himself staring, watching her as she begins to make her way down the corridor – straight towards him. Before he can even think, he jumps out from the shadows and curls his hand around his wrist, yanking her into the alcove. She screams as he pushes her against the wall, struggling as she tries to fight him off. He's stronger, though, even as she knees him in the thigh. He grunts, pressing his body against hers in a panic to keep her still and calm her down.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he whispers in her ear.

She stops struggling, her entire body seizing up. "Malfoy...what do you want?"

He pulls back far enough to look at her, his nose grazing hers at their close proximity. He can feel her apprehension and her fear through her body heat. Her eyes are wide with curiousity and confusion as she looks back. "S-something's happening tomorrow, Granger. Something bad," he murmurs. His voice sounds desperate, even to himself.

"What's happening?"

"I can't tell you. Just...protect yourself," he whispers sternly. "Protect your friends."

And then, before his mouth decides to reveal anything more, he disappears.

[And then, while he's lying in bed, it dawns on him – why he feels so...attracted to her. Why he feels so protective and obsessed.

She reminds him of _his_ _girl_.

And it's no wonder, then, because he's been obsessing over and trying to protect _her_ for as long as he can remember.]


	4. The Truth

'Ello!

First, I want to just take a second to thank everyone for reading, reviewing, favouriting – whatever you've done – because it means so, so much! So thank you, thank you, thank you.

Second, this is quite obviously the fourth – and probably most exciting – part! Unfortunately I have yet to decide whether this is the end or not… Part of me wants to make one more piece but part of me wants to leave it the way it is 'cause I sort of like the ending. That being said, I have started to write a little something, I'm just not sure what (if anything) I'm going to do with it.

Anyhow, hopefully this will clear some things up! Enjoy :)

* * *

><p><strong>The Truth<strong>

_The truth always comes out._

* * *

><p><em>"Can you keep a secret?"<em>

You have no idea the secrets I can keep._ "Sure."_

_"I think you're my best friend."  
>"<em>That's_ your secret?"  
>"My other friend would have a fit if she knew."<br>A laugh.  
>A shy smile. <em>

_"You're my best friend too."_

X

He freezes when he sees her chained to the wall in his family's basement. At least, it used to be a basement. Now it's more of a...dungeon. And his home is more of a prison.

He looks at her – her dirty clothes, her dirty skin, her dirty, matted hair – and it's like the world melts away. Gone, is the sound of his aunt's insane, maniacal laughter. Gone, are his father's taunts regarding her blood and her position – both in the world and in the moment. It's only him and it's only her and she looks _so_vulnerable. So defeated. So sad and helpless and afraid. So unlike herself that it makes him sick to his stomach.

His father steps forward, his wand pointed straight towards her and his stomach churns.

"_No. Don't. Please don't hurt her, father."_

His palms begin to sweat, his throat closes and his chest tightens as he awaits his father's actions. He has a sudden urge to protect her but he struggles against it – both for his own safety and for hers.

The spell that hits her straight in the chest causes her to scream and writhe in pain and he flinches away from the scene before him. He knows her agony – the blinding pain she's in – and he wants to help her, to save her.

"_Take care of yourself, okay? If you remember nothing else, remember that."_

Her screaming stops the moment the spell is lifted but the sound of it continues to reverberate in his head, echoes in his ears and causes him to close his eyes. He feels like a child afraid of his nightmares; like a teenage boy afraid of his reality.

He remains rooted to his spot, unable to move his feet and afraid that even if he could his legs would give way beneath him, even as the other Death Eaters leave the room and go back upstairs. His gaze is so immersed and frozen on the girl lying limp and seemingly lifeless on the floor in front of him that he misses the way his mother looks back at him as she follows his father up the stairs.

X

_"You don't have to keep doing that, you know."_

_"Of course I do. They're prats, all of them."  
>"Well, yes, but-"<br>"Nobody but me is allowed to make fun of you. And for that, I will always protect you. As long as I'm around, nobody will ever hurt you."_

X

He sneaks down to see her in the middle of the night because not even _his girl_can help him sleep. He can't explain the reason for it, but he goes because she's the only thing he can think of.

He walks slowly and carefully towards her. She's lying on the floor, curled into a ball facing the wall away from him. She looks weak, frail – and once again he feels sick to his stomach. He's sort of afraid to get close to her – afraid to hurt her – and yet something pushes him closer and closer until he's close enough to touch her. He bends down behind her, peering at her through heavy eyelids.

"Gra-" His voice falters, getting caught in his throat. He clears it, taking a deep breath. "Granger," he whispers hoarsely.

She stirs, but doesn't wake.

His hand shakes as he reaches out to touch her. "Hey, Granger," he whispers again, touching his fingers to her shoulder. "H-Hermione..." His name on her tongue sends shivers down his spine, which he ignores because at that moment she wakes up.

Her eyes widen in fear and she scrambles away from him, pushing herself hard against the wall.

"Shh! I'm not going to hurt you," he murmurs, falling closer to the ground – closer to her – onto his knees to cover her mouth with his hand before she can scream. "I promise I won't hurt you."

She nods slightly, staring at him with wide eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly, pulling his hand back.

"I'm fine," she whispers back stubbornly.

"You're lying. You're in pain – it's like your skin is crawling and your insides are burning," he murmurs, sitting back so he's directly across from her. He bends his legs and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "In the moment you want to die from the pain – and for a second you think you will, but then you don't and you almost wish you had. And even though the pain gets easier to handle, it never really goes away."

She blinks. "You...how do you know?"

He stares at her for a moment. "I've felt it." He inches closer to her slowly, hesitantly. "Can...can I?"

She nods.

Carefully, he pulls his wand out of his pocket and with a few incantations her injuries begin to heal. When he's finished, he sits back against the wall beside her. He glances sideways at her and somehow it feels normal. Easy. Right.

X

_Taps on her window.  
>A sad grey-eyed boy stares at her through the panes of glass. [His eyes kind of look like rain clouds.]<br>She opens the window and he crawls into her room.  
>"What are you doing here?"<br>"I-I wanted to see you."  
>He holds his side as he limps towards her bed.<br>"Are you okay?"  
>"I'm fine."<br>"No, you're hurt-"  
>"I'm fine now. I'm with you."<em>

X

Like when he was 10 years old, he stops outside his father's study when he hears his mother's voice.

"I told you something like this would happen, Lucius."

"Everything is fine-"

"Everything is _not_fine! He knows something's wrong, Lucius. He's always known – and it's only a matter of time before he finds out."

"I conducted the spell myself, there's _no way_he's going to find out. It's impossible-"

"What if it's not? What if something stronger helps him remember?"

His father scoffs. "Stronger than magic? What's stronger than magic?"

"Love."

Lucius barks then, laughing. "_Love_is not stronger than magic. And even if it is, he isn't in love – he was seven, for Merlin's sake."

Draco's throat closes at his father's words.

X

_Freshly mown grass.  
>New parchment – a handwritten note.<br>Peppermint toothpaste.  
>Brown eyes watching him.<br>"We'll always be friends, right?"  
>Grey eyes stare back.<br>"Always."_

X

He stares at the food lining his plate the next morning and he feels sick. His mind is elsewhere – reeling. He can't stop thinking about the things his father had said the night before.

He looks up at his mother, who is silent and reserved, eating her meal in piece. Then he looks to his father, who is also silent and reserved, his gaze trained on the Daily Prophet in front of him. Only a few months ago his Muggle Studies professor was killed and then disposed of on this table in the dining room and now here they are, eating a meal. The thought makes his skin crawl and then the vision of Granger, lying cold and lifeless in the professor's place makes him flinch.

Suddenly, he can't help himself. "What happened when I was seven?"

His mother freezes, choking on her food. Her fork falls and clangs on her plate.

His father remains calm, peering at him over his paper. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Draco replies harshly. "I heard you talking last night."

"You were eavesdropping, then."

"Perhaps if you don't want someone to hear you you should ensure that they won't."

Calmly, Lucius folds his newspaper and places it on the table as he looks at his son.

Draco looks away, towards his mother. Narcissa looks back, looking torn and upset. "Granger isn't just _Granger_, is she?"

"Draco, stop this," Lucius demands.

He whirls on his father, pushing himself to his feet. The force of his frustration knocks his chair backwards and makes the lights flicker. "You did something to her – to me. What'd you do?"

"I did what was best for you."

"What did you do?" He asks again, harder this time.

"Draco, now is not the time-"

"What the _fuck_did you do?!" He growls, slamming his hands down on the table. The sound startles his mother, who squeaks and flinches – but he doesn't care much for that. His gaze is glued heavily to the man before him.

Lucius pushes himself to his feet as well, places his palms on the table to mirror his son and looks at him sternly. "We're in the middle of a war and you're worried about _this_? She's just a mudblood!"

"But she was more than that, wasn't she?" Draco asks rhetorically. He straightens himself out. "She's the girl from my dreams – but they aren't dreams, are they? They're memories. I _knew_ her. I was friends with her – before I ever even met her on the train to Hogwarts. And you took my memories away from me – you took _her_away from me."

"I wasn't going to let my son be friends with a mudblood," Lucius spits viciously. "I certainly wasn't going to let you enter school that way."

"What did you do?" Draco asks, although he's fairly positive he already knows the answer

The eldest Malfoy licks his lips as he folds his arms across his chest. "Seems to me like you already know the answer to that."

X

_A hard slap across the face.  
>A bloody nose.<br>His mother's tears cascading down her face – identical to his own.  
>"You're fraternizing with a mudblood!" father yells incredulously, pulling on his hair as he rounds once more on mother. "And you're <em>allowing_ him to!"  
>She flinches. "Lucius, please understand-"<br>"I forbid it. No son of mine is going to be _friends_ with a filthy little mudblood girl."  
>"B-but father...she isn't dirty."<br>"Of course she isn't dirty on the outside, boy. It's her _blood_ that's dirty."  
>"She has magic, father, I've seen it. It's brilliant, really – she's super talented! Yesterday she made a butterfly appear in the palm of her hand-"<br>"She isn't supposed to have magic, Draco. She's a muggle and muggles don't have magic, you know that."  
>"Yes, but-"<br>"So if she does have magic then she has something she shouldn't have and she is not worthy of our kind. She is not worthy of _you_."  
>"But-"<br>"Enough!"  
>"Lucius-"<br>"You will no longer be allowed to see the mudblood and your mother will no longer be able to _take_ you, do you understand?"  
>"W-what about today? I'm supposed to see her today-"<br>"Then you're to tell her you can no longer see her."_

X

_Hushed tones through a thin wall.  
>A sobbing mother.<br>A hateful father.  
>"You have to obliviate her. You have to erase all traces of him from the girl's memories."<br>"What of Draco?"  
>"I'll take care of his memories myself."<br>"This is wrong, Lucius."  
>"This is the only way."<em>

X

"I cannot believe you," Draco mutters, turning away from his father.

"What else was I to do?"

"You could've left it alone-"

"And have you grow up with a mudblood as a friend-"

"Don't call her that," Draco whispers, closing his eyes to the word.

"Do you know what would've happened to you? How people would've reacted – how the Dark Lord would've reacted-"

"I don't _care_ about the Dark Lord!" Draco screams, whirling around once more. "And I don't care about how people would've reacted, she was my _friend_-"

"She was a liability!"

Draco opens his mouth to respond hotly and then closes it. He breathes deeply through his nose in a vain attempt to calm himself down – very vain. He licks his lips. "I was _happy_. Being around her made me _happy_ – that's the only time I ever was. Yesterday I could've told you that I couldn't even remember the last time I was happy and it would've been true – but now...now I remember _exactly_when it was."

X

_"Draco? Will you be my first kiss?" _

_"I dunno, will I?" _

_"Draco..." _

_"Only if you'll be mine." _

_"Okay." _

_"Okay. When?" _

_"Now." _

_"Okay."_

X

"But you didn't care about that, did you? That thought never even crossed your mind because you were too busy thinking about the Dark Lord – because all you _ever_ cared about was the _Dark Lord_," Draco spits – and literally, spit escapes his angry lips. "As long as it pleases your dear lord, you'll do anything, won't you?"

"What are you trying to say, _boy_? That you would've been perfectly happy being friends with..._her_?"

"Yes."

Lucius stares at him for a moment and then looks at Narcissa. "This is your fault. If you hadn't continued to take him there-"

"I was giving our _son_what he wanted-"

"Well we can't always have what we want, can we?!"

"Even if we can _you_make sure that we don't," Draco snaps.

"You watch your mouth, your _filthy_blood-traitor-"

"Or what?" he challenges. "You'll take away my memories again? I remembered once, I'm sure I can remember again."

Lucius looks like he's about to scream. Moments later he begins to clap. "Well done," he says, pausing between each word for emphasis. "Well done. You've done the impossible – now what? Hmm? What's the plan now, Draco?"

Draco is unresponsive, mostly because he doesn't know.

"I'll tell you what the plan is. You're going to stay away from her-"

"You tried to keep me away from her once before and we wound up going to the same school-"

"-_or_I'm going to torture her within an inch of her life and you'll just have to watch."

Draco steps forward, standing chest-to-chest with his father. Yesterday he might've cowered away from the older man. Now, he is blinded by rage. "If you lay one hand of her – if you cast a single spell – I swear to God I'll..." he trails off, unable to keep his voice level.

"Your protectiveness over this girl is almost endearing, Draco. Maybe now you'll do what you're told."

Draco snarls, struggling to keep his composure.

"Now. Sit down and finish your breakfast, the Dark Lord will be along shortly. You're going to be on your best behaviour, right? We wouldn't want him to find out about your...obsession with the mudblood, would we?"

The only thing that keeps him from lunging across the table at his father is the slight shake of his mother's head.

X

_Two swings.  
>A sandy playground.<br>A windy day.  
>"Why have I never met your friends?"<br>"What?"  
>"It's just...you've met <em>my_ friends. But I've never met yours."  
>An awkward shift. "My friends are...different."<br>"Different how?"  
>"They're not <em>really_ my friends. I only hang out with them because my father tells me to."  
>Silence.<br>"Besides, you wouldn't like them anyway."  
>"How do you know?"<br>"Because unfortunately I _have_ met them."  
>A giggle that means everything is okay.<em>

X

It isn't easily done, but he sneaks back into the dungeons undetected. He's wearing a large black cloak with the hood pulled over his head to hide his face. With his wand in one hand and a bag in the other, he tip-toes to where Granger is lying, sleeping.

He isn't scared.

He isn't hesitant.

This time he knows exactly why he's here. This time he knows exactly what he's doing.

He bends down, reaching a large, pale hand towards her and places it on her shoulder. "Granger," he whispers. "Granger."

She stirs and her eyelids flutter open as she adjusts to the darkness surrounding them. She stares for a moment and then flinches away from him.

"Shh, it's me," he assures her quickly, pushing his hood back to reveal his face. "It's just me."

"How do I know?"

He smirks at the brilliant-ness of her. "Fifth year, I gave you a potion to heal the wound on your hand."

"Which hand?"

"Left."

She nods once and visibly relaxes. "What are you doing down here?"

"We're going away," he tells her, using his wand to undo the chain around her right ankle.

"W-what?"

"I'm getting you out of here," he explains, pushing himself to his feet. He offers her his hand to help her.

She looks at him strangely. "Why? Why should I trust you?"

"That's just it – you _do_trust me, you just don't know why," he says, and the recognition that flashes in her eyes makes him continue. "You feel it, right? You've always felt it. It's like there's this...this pull between us, right? A connection. But you've never been able to explain it – to yourself or to anyone else."

She blinks, her mouth opening like she wants to speak but she doesn't.

"I know," he tells her. "I know everything and as soon as I get us to a safe place I'll tell you. I promise."

She slips her hand into his then and he pulls her gently to her feet. As she dusts herself off, he pulls another cloak out of his pocket and throws it around her shoulders. She looks at him questioningly.

"The more we blend into the darkness, the easier it'll be," he murmurs, trying the string around her neck. He reaches behind her then and pulls the hood up over her head. He lingers, his gaze raking over the form of her face, breathing her in. "You're still so beautiful..."

A pink tint works its way onto her cheeks as she bows her head. "Where are we going?"

"I know a place, from when I was child, and only one other person knows of its existence."

"You can't come back here after, they'll ask questions and-"

"I won't be coming back," he says, swinging his bag over his shoulder.

"Y-you won't?"

He shakes his head. "No."

"How are we going to get out of here?"

"Through the front door," he replies, taking her hand and leading her quietly to the bottom of the stairs. He opens the door carefully.

"The front door – are you mad? What if we get caught?" she asks worriedly.

"It's the only way out," he explains. "The wards have been shut off for security purposes and not even I can disapparate us out – especially not I... Once we get out the front door we just have to get beyond the gate. From there we can go anywhere we want to."

"Y-you're sure?"

He nods once and pulls out a second wand from his cloak pocket.

She stares at it, wide-eyed, as she takes it into her hand. "How did you..."

"It's yours, right?"

She nods.

"My dear aunt isn't as smart as she thinks she is," he sneers. He watches her fiddle with the wand between her fingers, getting used to the feeling of it in her hands again. He then raises his gaze to her face – her dirt and blood stained cheeks, her chapped lips and the small cut on her jaw. Even soiled, her skin looks soft and inviting. He clears his throat, collecting himself. "Ready?"

She looks up at him and smiles softly – it's the first time she's smiled in weeks. "Ready. You?"

He smirks. "I was born ready."

X

_A bright, shining sun.  
>A girl's delighted squeal.<br>A boy's blissful laughter.  
>"Run!"<br>Two older boys yelling.  
>"Oi! Get back here!"<br>"Run, Hermione!"  
>"I'm running!"<br>"Faster!"  
>"I can't go any faster!"<br>He takes her hand, laughing as he passes her and pulls her along. "C'mon!"_


	5. Realise

Hello there, lovelies! It's been a while, hasn't it..? Goodness. I hate to say it, 'cause it's always my excuse, but I've been insanely busy these last few (numerous) months.

Anyhow, here is the FINAL installment everyone has been waiting for! I'm still not entirely sure about this, so lemme know what you think.

Enjoy :)

* * *

><p><strong>Realise<strong>

_A large, wooden staircase._

_A fort that looks like a castle sitting in a tree.  
><em>

_"What _is_ this place?"  
><em>

_"A treehouse! My dad made it last summer. Cool huh?"  
><em>

_"Is...is it safe?"  
><em>

_"Of course it's safe, silly. It's the safest place I know."_

X

Hermione's breath catches in her throat the moment her head stops spinning and she can see clearly where she is. She looks around her – at the forest floor, at the tall trees surrounding her. But mostly she just stares at the tree before her, the largest and tallest of them all with a tree house built into it. _Her_ tree house; the one her father built years ago in the forest at her grandmother's house. She used to come here all the time when she was a kid, but stopped when she was around seven years old.

She looks at the person standing beside her, watching her from beneath his hood as she tries to find answers in his face. His face is blank and his eyes are unreadable as he stares at her with his hands shoved into his pockets. A thousand questions are floating around in her head but only one is persistent: _how does he know about this place?_

She thinks she might already know the answer and it's because of that that she isn't afraid.

"Recognize it?" Draco asks softly.

"Of course I recognize it, it's mine," she replies, her tone equally soft. "But how do you...why-"

"Let's clean you up first, yeah?"

She nods absentmindedly, allowing him to guide her toward the small hand-crafted staircase. Upon entering the tree house she's silent, hesitant – for she isn't sure what to expect.

It's exactly how she remembers it – except smaller (perhaps because she's bigger) and dustier.

Everything is exactly how she left it.

Draco guides her towards one of the two wooden chairs and tells her to sit down. She does as she's told and he slowly lifts his wand to her, muttering a few quick cleansing spells. When he's finished with her skin, he moves onto her hair and then her clothes.

She looks like her old self again in just a few minutes.

Moments later she finds herself walking around the small space, carefully running her fingers over the smooth wood. Carved into the wood of the little window sill her father installed is: "DM/HG" – and she knows immediately what it stands for. Her stomach turns over with butterflies and her heart jumps into her throat as she turns to face him. "So...explain everything. From the beginning."

X

_Stars shining brightly above their heads.  
><em>

_Soft grass cushioning the hard ground beneath them.  
><em>

_"Have you ever just wanted to...disappear?"  
><em>

_"What, like run away?"  
><em>

_"Yeah. I guess."  
><em>

_"Once. You?"  
><em>

_"Where would you go?"  
><em>

_"My tree house. Where would _you_ go?"  
><em>

_Pause. "Your tree house."  
><em>

_"Why?"  
><em>

_"Because that's the first place _you'd_ go."_

X

She licks her lips and then opens her mouth to respond but the words die on her tongue. She doesn't know what to say or how to react. She stares at him, taking in the innocent, hopeful look pasted on his pale, delicate features. He's telling the truth, she knows he is, and while it isn't that hard to believe it's almost impossible for her comprehend. "So," she starts hesitantly, pacing across the limited space in front of him. "So we knew each other before Hogwarts – we were friends."

"Yes."

"And then your father found out and he obliviated you-"

"And my mother obliviated you, yes."

"And that's why...that's why there's been this weird tension between us all these years."

"Correct."

"It's why I always felt like I knew you from somewhere."

He nods.

"And you had dreams about me."

"Yes. Frequent dreams – all the time, starting when I was around eight years old. Only I didn't know it was you."

"Me too," she whispers thoughtfully. "I...it was always like I _knew_ you, you know? Like...I knew there was more to you than what you lead people to believe."

He smiles softly, bowing his head as he leans forward with his elbows on his knees.

"They weren't really dreams though, were they? They were memories – from when we were kids."

"Yes, I believe so."

She blinks furiously as she pushes herself to her feet. She begins to pace around in front of him and he watches her every move. He knows she's thinking because of the look on her face and the look on her face looks like conflict. "H-how is that even possible? I mean...I mean they _obliviated_ us – we can't just...remember on our own. That goes against everything we've ever been told. It's like we've beat magic, but how does one _beat_ magic?"

"Love," he whispers. Their gazes collide for half a second as she whirls around to face him before he looks down at the floor. He runs his hand through his hair and rubs the back of his neck as he pushes himself to his feet at well. "My uh...my mum mentioned it my father yesterday – she said that maybe _love_ is stronger than magic."

She blinks, staring at him questioningly.

He clears his throat awkwardly. "But maybe not, I dunno."

"It can't be love," she replies. "We were seven, we couldn't have been in love."

He shrugs. "Maybe it isn't just romantic love."

"Oh..."she murmurs, trailing off.

Silence falls over them as she walks around admiring her old haven. He, meanwhile, wishes he could tell her more – tell her that he truly does care for her, that even if his dreams had only been dreams they had always been real to him. He knows, however, that it's still too soon for that.

"We should find Harry and Ron," she announces.

"You need to get some more rest," he tells her.

"But they-"

"We'll find them," he assures her. "I'll figure out a way to find them as soon as possible. You need to rest."

She sighs, nodding tiredly. "Okay. Yeah. Fine."

"Okay."

"How are you going to find them?"

"No idea."

"I know where we can go. But I don't know that they'll be there."

X

_"Do you think they're right about me?"  
><em>

_"Who?"  
><em>

_"The other boys."  
><em>

_"Right about what?"  
><em>

_"...me being ugly."  
><em>

_"No, I don't think they're right."  
><em>

_"But they are – my hair is too curly, my teeth are too big-"  
><em>

_"You're pretty, Hermione. They're just idiots."  
><em>

_"Really?"  
><em>

_"I swear."_

X

She stares at the tip of Harry's wand pointed straight at her face.

"Bloody hell, Harry!" Ron roars from behind his best friend.

"We have to be sure, Ron," Harry replies calmly, despite the waver in his eyes.

Hermione nods. "Ask me anything."

"What did my snitch say when I touched it?" Harry asks.

"_'I open at the close.'_"

The second Harry lowers his wand Ron pushes past him and nearly bowls her over as he embraces her tightly. Harry hugs her next.

"We should wake the others," Ron says excitedly, walking past her towards the hallway to bolt up the stairs to the second floor of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

"No!" Hermione protests quickly, grabbing hold of his arm. "No, I just... Let them sleep. I can see them tomorrow. Besides, we need to talk."

"How did you find us?" Harry asks curiously. "How did you even escape?"

"That's what I need to talk to you about," she replies. "You see, we didn't have a clue where to even start trying to find you and then I-"

"Wait, hold on," Ron stops her, looking confused. "We? Who's 'we'?"

Hermione blinks, looking hesitant as she moves closer to the exit to the hallway, making sure to put herself between her friends and her, well, friend. "You can come out now," she says loudly.

Somehow Harry and Ron both know she isn't talking to either of them.

On cue, Draco walks into the room behind her, putting both Harry and Ron on the attack. They raise their wands, pointing them behind her and directly at him.

She instinctively goes on the defense, shifting herself better between the blond behind her and the tips of their wands. "Don't! Stop – lower your wands," she pleads.

"But Hermione-"

"I said lower your wands, he isn't dangerous," she tells them calmly, glancing backwards at him briefly – he looks calm, but also like he's struggling not to pull out his own wand. She looks back at Harry and Ron – Harry looks hesitant and uncertain and Ron just looks furious.

"He's a Death Eater, what the bloody hell are you doing with him?" Ron demands.

"I can explain everything, just put your wands down," she pleads again. "Trust me."

Harry, the more logical of the two, lowers his first, followed by Ron who grudgingly drops his arm to his side. She can almost hear Draco smirk behind her but she chooses to ignore it and instead show her appreciation to her friends by smiling at them.

"Thank you," she says softly.

"It's _him_ who should be thanking us," Ron mutters aggressively, his angry glare boring into the blond's form.

She barely holds back an eye-roll – he doesn't know the delicacy of the situation, after all – and instead lead all three them towards the long dining room table. Harry and Ron take two seats on one side of the table and Draco takes one on the other, directly across from them. Hermione, being nervous as she is, stands next to him, facing her friends. She takes a deep, calming breath as she prepares to tell her friends everything she's just realized to be true.

X

"You really expect us to believe that _he_ isn't a threat?" Ron asks incredulously.

"He's not," Hermione insists firmly. "He isn't a threat and he isn't dangerous – not to us."

"To who, then?"

"You know what I mean, Ronald. He's on our side-"

"He tormented you!" Ron bellows, pushing himself to his feet so quickly that the force knocks the chair backwards.

Hermione flinches at the sound and out of the corner of her eye she sees Draco lower his head in shame. "Ron-"

"He tormented you for _years_, Hermione – called you all sorts of nasty, derogatory names. For Merlin's sake, he watched his deranged aunt _torture_ you for hours and he didn't do anything to stop her!" he shouts angrily.

"Ron-"

"Not to mention what he did to _us_ too-"

"Ron!" she shouts loudly, causing him to stop his own shouting and look at her. "I already told you-"

"Yeah, yeah. He healed your injuries and helped you escape and then told you some fabulous story of how you're long lost friends whose memories were erased and now have magically reappeared," he snaps, rolling his eyes. "That's bullshit and it's mad and _you're_ mad if you believe him. He-he's probably just trying to get into your head – to help You-Know-Who and-"

"He isn't doing any such thing!" Hermione yells defensively. "Don't you think that if he were trying to get into my head he would've just left me there – continued to let Bellatrix torture me until I spilled something?"

Ron blinks, staring at her. He then turns his gaze on the blond. "What'd you do to her?"

"I didn't do anything, Weaselbee, and if you would actually listen to her for once in your bloody life you'd know that," Draco drawls, seemingly unfazed.

Ron lunges across the table at him but Harry catches him just in time and holds him back – meanwhile Draco pushes himself to his feet instinctively and Hermione moves to protect him. He yanks himself out of Harry's grip. "You believe her, then?" Ron asks his best friend, looking at him questioningly. "You believe _him_?"

"We have no reason not to," Harry replies calmly.

"He's a Death Eater! He has the Dark Mark – we've all seen it-"

"He was forced to take it, Ron," Hermione says softly, gaining everyone's attention. "He had to take it in order to protect his family. He's just as much a victim of this war as we are. He was just as scared and twice as lonely. He never wanted to take it. He's on our side now – a part of him always has been," she whispers, glancing back at Draco briefly. He offers her a small, tight-lipped smile and she returns it before facing her friends once more.

Ron seems to have settled down, but only barely. And Harry, who has remained fairly quiet during the entire ordeal, looks thoughtful. "You trust him?" he asks her.

She nods. "With my life."

"Then he can have a room," Harry says, nodding his head in the direction of the stairs. "He'll stay here, but he won't be allowed in on the Order's meetings until I know for certain that _I_ can trust him. Deal?" He's looking directly at Draco.

Draco nods once and pushes his hands into his pockets. "Deal."

X

"Harry wants to get into Bellatrix's vault."

Draco blinks, staring at her from across the table.

"Hermione!" Harry protests from the other end.

"Harry, I told you, he can help us. She's his aunt, after all."

"That's exactly why he _wouldn't_ help us," Ron mutters from beside Harry.

Hermione glares at him for a brief moment before turning her head to look back at Draco. "What do you think?"

Draco leans back and crosses his arms over his chest, his gaze trained on her beautiful eyes. "I think it would be damn near impossible."

"That's what I said," Hermione says. "But after her reaction towards us having the Sword of Gryffindor-"

"You think she's hiding a Horcrux."

"Do _you_?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if she was. She's obsessed with You-Know-Who. And if she's as worried as she sounded, chances are she's got more security on her vault now than ever."

"Exactly. So we need a way around it – and the only thing I can think of is using-"

"Polyjuice Potion."

"Yes. And I have a hair of hers, from when she... It was on my sweater. I can use it."

He looks thoughtful for moment. "It's undetectable to the human eye, which means that as long the mission's quick, by the time anybody realizes that you aren't _her_ you could be long gone. But it's still risky, Granger. What if the hair isn't hers?"

"It's hers," she says softly, her voice only slightly shaky.

He gulps, nodding his head ever-so-slightly. "What if they have some sort of security detail? Or a security question?"

"It's a risk we would have to take."

"And _you_ have to be the one to take it?"

She nods. "That's the plan."

He nods, despite the fact that he looks highly unamused. "I think it would work."

Ron looks between the two of them, looking disgusted. "Well, now that we've got his permission can we start brewing the potion?"

"I've already started," Hermione replies, casting her gaze towards the table.

Draco smirks. "Of course you have."

X

Draco looks up from his book as she walks into his room. He sits up on his bed quickly and closes the book as he places it on his bedside table. "Hey," he greets her softly.

"Hey," she greets back. "Can I..?" she asks, trailing off as she motions towards the end if his bed.

"Yeah," he nods, pushing himself up so he's leaning back against the headboard. He swallows a lump in his throat as she moves forward to sit at the foot of the bed. She's leaving tomorrow – and in all honesty, the closer the day comes, the more anxious he's becoming.

She fidgets in the pocket of her sweater briefly before pulling out a plastic bag and handing it to him.

He looks at it, puzzled, and his gaze lands on a single white-blond hair. "What's this?"

"It's your father's. I found it tucked into the bottom of my jeans – I kept it just in case," she whispers.

"W-what do you want me to do with it?"

"I want you to use it – to come with us tomorrow."

He blinks, staring at her blankly. "What?"

"I want you to come. I-I know you'll be worried, and I'll be anxious – and I think if both Lucius and Bellatrix were to walk into Gringott's it would be much more believable," she explains.

He nods. "And your boys are okay with that?"

She smiles, rolling her eyes. "They don't have a choice in the matter."

X

Draco's standing in the back of the living room, nursing a champagne flute and watching Ginny open her birthday presents. They – the Order – have decided to take a short break from the war to celebrate. The Weasleys, Potter, Granger and a few of their peers are in attendance to the gathering. And despite not being a part of the Order – and the fact that the majority of the house doesn't even like him – Draco was invited by default.

And the reason for that is sitting cross-legged on the floor next to her friend, showing the redhead how to use whatever muggle device she's just given her. He watches her from across the room, over the rim of his glass. She looks beautiful. More importantly, though, she looks healthy – a massive improvement from the state she was in when they got here three and a half weeks ago.

"Malfoy."

He tears his gaze away from his brunette to look at the raven-haired man next to him. "Potter."

"You should know that Hermione's insisting you be a part of the meeting tomorrow."

He smirks. "Is that your way of telling me I'm allowed, Chosen One?"

Harry glares at him. "Only because Hermione seems to trust you and I've always trusted her judgment."

Draco nods and his gaze finds its way back to her.

"You truly care for her?"

"What?"

"Hermione – do you truly care for her?"

Draco looks at him once more. "Yes."

"What changed?"

"Nothing, really," he admits. "I think a part of me always has because a part of me always knew."

"Knew that you knew her?"

"Knew that I cared for her."

Harry nods, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks away towards his girlfriend and the girl in question. "Why did you choose her?"

"Sorry?"

"Over your family. You went against your father's direct orders to save her and now here you are, with her. Why?"

Draco licks his lips before gulping back the last of his flute. "It felt right. After I realized what was going on – what happened – it was like there was no other option."

Silence falls between them for several moments before Harry breaks it. "I hope she's right about you, Malfoy."

X

He's sitting at the piano, playing a song from his childhood when she sits down next to him. He glances at her as his fingers continue to glide across the keys and she smiles at him softly before looking down at the keys. Her hair is pulled back into a messy, floppy bun at the top of her head, which draws attention to her smooth, silky-looking, pale neck. She looks comfy in her too-large sweater and - and yet naturally beautiful.

How had he never known before?

"I love that song," she whispers when he brings the song to an end.

"Me too," he says, smiling softly.

"Where'd you learn it?"

He blinks. "I...I don't actually know. It's like I woke up one morning and I just...knew it."

"I used to play it when I was a child but I never really knew where it came from," she admits.

They stare at each other for a moment and he watches with a slight smirk as the colour rises in her cheeks.

"Y-You don't think..?" she wonders knowingly.

"I think we both know it," he whispers.

She smiles, shaking her head disbelievingly. "I still don't understand how all of this is possible."

He shrugs his shoulders slightly. "I dunno, I think my mother might be onto something."

"Love?"

He swallows the lump in his throat as he turns to look at her property. "The girl in my dreams meant the world to me, Granger. Both in my dreams and in real life. She was everything."

"So," she starts slowly, hesitantly, "if I'm the girl in your dreams, then..." She trails off, her mouth dry and her mind racing with all sorts of thoughts that she can't concentrate.

He nods once and licks his lips nervously.

She blinks. "Are you in love with me, Draco?"

His breath catches in his throat and he stares at her for a moment. "I think I'd be lying if I said I wasn't."

She sees the truth, the tenderness and the emotion in his light grey eyes and she knows he's telling the truth. What she doesn't see is Ron watching them from the hallway.

X

She jumps when Ron startles her from behind and instinctively places her hand over her chest above her heart. "Ronald Weasley!" she shrieks scoldingly.

"Sorry," he chuckles, rubbing her back. He leans over her shoulder and breathes in deeply through his nose, the smell of whatever it is she's cooking. "What're you cooking?"

"Chocolate fondue – mum used to make it all the time," she replies.

"Smells delicious. What's the occasion?"

She shrugs. "Draco asked me about it so I said I'd make it."

He groans loudly, rolling his eyes as he backs away and leans against the island counter behind her. "You don't _really_ believe all that, do you? That you're long lost friends or something-"

"Of course I believe it," she says, stirring the chocolate slowly. "I've experienced the same types of dreams, Ron. We really _were_ friends, his parents really _did_ obliviate us and he really _is_ on our side."

"So that changes the fact that he spent the last, what, six years bullying you?"

She sighs. "It wasn't that bad – and besides, he had his fair share of not-so-bad moments. He warned me about the Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup and he warned me before-"

"Before he let Death Eaters into the school, I know. Because he was a _Death Eater_, Hermione."

"_Was_," she points out. "People change."

"Yeah, he's a bloody saint now," he mutters.

"Look can we talk about something else?"

"Please," he agrees. "In fact I know exactly what we can talk about."

"What?"

"Us."

She blinks. "Ron…" she murmurs hesitantly. "I don't think-"

"C'mon, 'Mione, we haven't talked about us in months – hell we haven't talked about anything other than _Malfoy_ in months. Let's talk about us – I miss you."

"I miss you too, Ron, but..."

He takes a step towards her and turns her around by the shoulders so she's looking at him. "But what?" When she looks down at the floor, he cranes his neck to see her face, worriedly. "You still want what we talked about, right? You and me, after the war."

She swallows the nervous lump in her throat as she lifts her hesitant gaze. "I...I don't know."

He takes a step back, like she's just hit him. A muscle in his jaw tightens as his thoughts fall on only one conclusion. "Is this about Malfoy?"

"It's about a lot more than that," she whispers.

"But he is a part of it," he concludes. "Do you have feelings for him? Are you in love with him? Or do you just like the fact that he's all 'good' and 'innocent' and 'misunderstood'-"

"I don't know, Ron! I don't know," she admits.

He blinks. "Fine. Let me know when you've figured it out then."

She sighs, opening her mouth to call him back guiltily as he turns to leave the kitchen but she can't find the words. She watches him stop just as he almost disappears into the hallway and hears him mutter "Of _bloody_ course" in that tone he only uses when Draco's in the room. Her heartbeat picks up quickly and hammers in her ears – and that's why she can't be with Ron.

X

She finds him sitting in the living room next to the window, watching the rain drip down the panes of glass in front of him. It's well past midnight and everyone else is asleep upstairs. "Hey," she says softly so as not to startle him.

He looks up and smiles tiredly. "Hey. Can't sleep?"

She shakes her head as she walks towards him and sits next to him on the window bench.

"Yeah. Me either."

She pulls her legs up and wraps her arms around her knees. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

She looks at him, resting her chin on the tips of her knees. "How come you never told me about magic?"

He blinks. "What do you mean?"

"Obviously you knew, I showed you. When everybody else called me a freak, you told me I was special – but you never told me about magic."

"I wasn't allowed to," he replies softly.

"You weren't allowed to do a lot of stuff and you did them anyway."

He smirks knowingly. "Yeah, I suppose. But telling you about magic would've been entirely different. Disobeying my father was one thing, disobeying The Ministry... Besides, I knew you'd get a Hogwarts Letter so I was just sort of waiting."

She nods understandingly. "So you knew I was a muggleborn before, but at Hogwarts you acted like...well, you know."

"I know," he murmurs shamefully. He sits forward, looking at her intently. "I was just a kid, so I never really understood what my father meant when he talked about muggleborns. I knew what you were when I met you, but it just hadn't mattered to me. When I was with you, in the muggle world, I could be myself. After he obliviated me he continued hammering me with his pureblood bullshit – probably even more – but it still never really resonated with me. Probably because deep down it all came back to you," he admits, smiling weakly. "But at school...I was being watched constantly, so I had to act like I despised muggleborns even if I really didn't care."

She smiles back, tilting her head to the side.

He watches her silently as she turns her head to look out the window then. He marvels in her beauty and in the way her skin shines in the moonlight, reflects the raindrops on her skin. Merlin, she's beautiful. "I hated it, you know. Acting like I hated you. Calling you...what I had to call you."

She looks at him again and she can see the guilt and regret in his in eyes.

"There was just something about hurting you that never sat well with me – and whenever someone else hurt you, I wanted to just tear them apart." He pauses and chuckles softly. "I was oddly protective of you."

"Not so 'oddly'," she points out.

He grins. "Yeah, I guess not."

"Remember the time you snuck into my room in the middle of night?"

"Which time?"

She laughs, shaking her head playfully. "The first night you couldn't sleep. You snuck into my room and crawled into my bed before I even realized you were there-"

"And then we spent three hours just talking."

"I don't even remember falling asleep."

Two hours later she falls asleep and he carries her back to her bedroom, wishing more than anything that he could crawl into her bed like he used to.

X

She's anxious. Beyond anxious, really. Incredibly on edge and basically terrified.

She's sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for the sound of the front door open. Awaiting the arrival of two of the most important people in the world to her.

Ron finds her, alone, and smiles. "Hey."

"Hey," she greets back, her nails picking subconsciously at the table beneath her fingers.

"They'll be fine, you know. Much as I hate to admit it, Malfoy knows what he's doing."

She laughs softly and rolls her eyes.

He grins back – mostly at the fact that he's managed to make her laugh for the first time in days. "What do you think – think they'll be arguing when they come in, or will they be all chummy?"

"That's a tough one," she giggles.

"I reckon they'll be arguing about something – probably over who stunned which Death Eater," Ron says.

"Or who saved who's arse."

"Or who looked better doing it."

She smiles at him, shrugging her shoulders casually.

He stares at her for a moment as he leans forward with his elbows on the table directly in front of her. "You have feelings for him, don't you?"

Hermione blinks, looking at him sheepishly.

He nods, biting his bottom lip as he looks down and shakes his head.

"I-I'm sorry," she whispers.

"No, it's okay," he replies, looking back up at her. "I just never thought I'd lose you to Malfoy, of all people. Harry, sure. Maybe even Neville. But Malfoy?"

She smiles sadly.

As if on cue the sound of the front door opening echoes through the front hall. That sound is immediately followed by the sound of two sets of footprints coming into the hall.

Her eyes widen in relief as she launches herself off her chair, out into the hall and directly into the arms of an unsuspecting blond.

"Oof," Draco mutters as he falls back against the front door from the force of her body hitting his. He smiles as she buries her face into his neck and he curls his arms around her back tightly.

"Oh get a room," Harry says loudly, playfully.

X

She looks across at him, watches him talk with Harry, Ron and Lupin about the plan to protect Hogwarts. He's wearing muggle clothes borrowed from Fred, who's approximately the same height and his hair is all messy and wind-swept.

It's awful timing, but she remembers their brief conversation about his feelings for her. Remembers the conversation she overheard between him and Harry just the other day, when the latter told the former that he finally trusted him – not just in the Order, but also with her.

And suddenly her feet are carrying her across the hall, past Luna and Ginny and Dean Thomas. She reaches the small group of them - the men, because they're hardly just boys anymore, are they? – and she practically throws her arms around his neck as her lips crash against his. His lips are chapped and a little rough and his hands feel callused as he brings them up to cup her face as he kisses back – desperately, hungrily, vulnerably.

And for that moment there is no war. There's no looming death, there's nobody watching. For that moments it's just them and the fire and ice coursing through her veins and the butterflies fluttering around in her stomach and the feeling of jelly in her limbs.

When she pulls back, she's panting and then the words are out of her mouth before she even thinks them. "I love you too," she murmurs.

He blinks in response. "I - uh..."

"I know," she smiles weakly. When she turns to go back to her post, ignoring the smirk on Harry's face and the look of mocking disgust on Ron's, he grabs her and pulls her back, pressing his forehead against hers.

"Take care of yourself, okay?"

"Yeah. You as well."

X

He tries to keep one eye on her at all times. However, while he's dueling with one particularly nasty Death Eater, he loses track of her. After stunning the man in the white mask, he whirls around to where he last saw her – only she isn't there. She isn't anywhere. And so, battle forgotten, he takes off in search of his favourite curly-haired witch.

He passes her friends – Longbottom, Thomas, Lovegood – and asks them if they've seen her. They haven't.

He passes some of the Slytherins who have come up from the dungeons to fight alongside the Order – Blaise Zabini and Theo Nott – but they haven't seen her either.

He's in full-on panic mode by the time he hears a familiar drawl echoing down a dark, otherwise empty corridor. His blood runs cold at the sound of that word – Mudblood - and he makes his way quietly towards the voice. He peers around the corner and his stomach churns at the sight of his father having backed Hermione against the brick wall.

"I should've killed you when I first had the chance all those years ago," Lucius Malfoy murmurs darkly, his wand pressing against the underside of her chin.

"Why didn't you?" she asks softly; her voice holds no fear, only distant curiosity.

"Because your memories were never supposed to return."

"Perhaps your magic just isn't strong enough-"

Lucius growls. "Why you despicable, filthy-"

"Father," Draco says, making his presence known. He sees Hermione's gaze flicker towards him, but he keeps his own on the man whom is nearly identical to himself – more specifically, he keeps his gaze on the wand now aimed at her throat.

"Ah, Draco," Lucius sneers. "Nice of you to join us."

"Let her go," he replies stonily.

"I must say, I was quite surprised to find out that you'd disappeared with the Mudblood here. I thought perhaps I had finally gotten through to you. May I ask how you got out?"

Draco swallows the knot in his throat. "Through the front door. Now let her go," he demands.

"Why would I do that?"

"Because if you harm one hair on her head I'll never forgive you."

Lucius smirks. "How did you become so...soft, Draco? So misguided. Where did I go wrong?"

Draco gaps at him. "_Wrong?_ You think-" he cuts himself off, gripping his wand hard at his side. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"Understand what?" his father snaps.

"Anything – you've never loved anything. You've never cared-"

"_Love?_" Lucius spits disgustedly. "You really think you _love_ this one?"

Draco glares at him. "I know I do. And, you know, I think you had a lot – if not everything – to do with it."

"How?"

"You drilled your pureblood supremacy into my head for so long and so often that it sparked my curiosity – and my curiosity led me to _her_."

"How dare you blame me for you discrepancies!" Lucius growls, forgetting - momentarily - about the the girl whom his wand is pointed at.

"_My_ discrepancies?"

"I have given you _everything_, you ungrateful-"

"Yeah, everything except a loving, _stable_ home," Draco snaps. "Everything except the freedom to think my own thoughts and follow my own dreams and find my own purpose in life."

"If falling in love with Mudbloods is your way of doing those things then you've succeeded miraculously, haven't you?" his father sneers.

"I haven't fallen in love with a Mudblood," the youngest Malfoy denies. "I've fallen in love with a girl much kinder and braver and purer than anyone I've ever known – than I could ever hope _you_ to be."

Lucius glares at him dangerously.

Draco allows his gaze to flicker towards Hermione, standing still and silent beyond his father and nods his head ever-so-slightly. Within seconds, she catches the eldest Malfoy off guard and pushes him, causing him to stumble far enough away from her for her to dodge out of the way of Draco's incoming spell. The stunning spell hits the other man straight in the chest and sends him flying backwards before he even has a chance to catch his footing. His body hits the wall with a sickening thud and his head snaps back against the brick; he lands in an unconscious heap on the floor.

Draco stares down at the still body of his father for a few seconds – his eyes are sad and withdrawn – before turning his attention to Hermione. He takes her face in his hands and instinctively begins searching her for injuries.

"I'm fine, Draco," she insists, placing her hands on his arm to reassure him. "I promise."

"He didn't hurt you?"

She shakes her head. "He only threatened to."

X

His father is captured by the Aurors and taken to Azkaban where he will await trial. His mother goes willingly and unlike as he watched his father go, his eyes are regretful and sad. Hermione watches him watch her, watches the pain morph on his face. Watches his fists roll into balls at his side as he struggles to hold himself together.

Harry comes up beside her and curls an arm around her neck. He's just won the war against Voldemort and so there's a huge amount of satisfaction and happiness dancing through him but the pain and sadness of all the lives lost in the process is weighing heavily on his heart, she can tell.

Draco turns to them, then, and a small smile graces his lips when he sees her. He shoves his hands into his pockets and takes the few steps separating them before offering Harry his hand. The dark-haired wizard pulls his arm back from Hermione's shoulders to shake his hand.

"I'll speak for her," Harry tells him.

Draco swallows thickly. "You don't have to do that," he mutters.

"She saved my life," the other man says, shrugging his shoulders. "Even if it was just to make sure your pale arse was still alive."

The blond nods. "Thank you."

Seconds after Harry leaves them alone – save for the hundreds of students and professors and peers around them – they continue to stand across from each other awkwardly. Too tense to move and too afraid to make a move. It's like they're shy, embarrassed teenagers speaking for the first time.

"So...what happens now?" she asks softly, fiddling nervously.

"I dunno," he admits, smiling sadly.

"W-what about us?"

He holds his hand out, palm up for her to take. She slips her hand into his and he pulls her forward gently so she's flush against him. He curls his other arm around her waist and dips his head to kiss the tip of her nose – all the while keeping her gaze with his own. "We'll figure it out the way we started this. Together," he murmurs. "Yeah?"

She nods, smiling softly. "Yeah."

* * *

><p>Fin!<p> 


End file.
